


Ho-Hoe-Ho, Merry Kissmas

by batsaboutbats, meaninglessblah



Series: Let's Play A Love Game [4]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Smut, Competition, Dom/sub Undertones, Kissing, M/M, Mistletoe, Praise Kink, Restraints, Santa Kink, Spanking, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 22:25:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21961033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/batsaboutbats/pseuds/batsaboutbats, https://archiveofourown.org/users/meaninglessblah/pseuds/meaninglessblah
Summary: Christmas Spinoff fic forLet's Play A Love Game. Happens outside the investigation in the Main Fic, where Tim and Jason still work at the Daily O. Season's greetings, everybody!
Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Series: Let's Play A Love Game [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1532045
Comments: 10
Kudos: 101





	Ho-Hoe-Ho, Merry Kissmas

“Christmas is a big deal for you guys, huh?” Jason asks when Yolanda strolls into the dressing room with an armful of leather and a wicked grin. He’s learnt better than to resist when she lifts a bell-adorned harness from the mess, beckoning for him to strip out of his t-shirt. She seems to approve of the assless chaps though. 

Tommy’s already laced into his corset dress, and is in the process of applying the last few touches to his makeup. “Biggest night of the year.” He tosses Jason a toothy smile and adds, “Best night too, if you ask me.” 

“We have a Santa every year,” Yolanda informs him, patting his stool. Jason drops into it willingly, bracing himself to be accosted with makeup and scantily constructed outfits. 

“Long Johnson is our go-to,” Tommy interjects, applying his rouge with meticulous care. 

“Long Johnson couldn't make it,” Yolanda pouts, buckling his harness with fluent efficiency. Jason tries to stay still as she bustles about him, adjusting a pair of miniature antlers on his crown. “I think he caught a flu. But we got a fill in. A real Daddy-type,” she adds with a wink. 

Tommy perks at that. “Oh yeah? How so?” 

“He’s about seven foot tall and half as wide,” Yolanda answers with broad approval, and Jason could swear Tommy drools, just a little bit. 

“Eyes on the prize, Nebraska,” he chastises, pointing at his own blue-green orbs. Tommy gives him a crooked grin for the effort. 

“I’m allowed to dream,” he coos, straightening the little red-and-green bows on his tan stockings. He arches a long lean leg in his red peep toe heels, tugging at the white lace icing garter on his thigh. 

When Tommy straightens, Jason takes a minute to run his gaze over the tightly laced corset dress, the barely-there ruffles of his skirt and the decorative gumdrop button styling down his diaphragm. 

“What on earth are you, exactly?” Jason demands as Yolanda tugs him up to apply some shimmering lip gloss. 

Tommy winks, shimmying a vibrant red tinsel boa over his shoulders. “Gingerbread man, of course.” 

Jason snorts. “Obviously, who wouldn’t be able to guess that?” 

The blond leans forward to flick one of the golden bells glinting on Jason’s harness. It chimes brightly at the attention, and Jason bats his hand away with a scowl. “Loving the sexy reindeer look though. I thought you didn’t do ears, hmm?” 

“I’ve been extorte- _ ow!_” Jason yelps when Yolanda tweaks his nipple. 

“Get in the holiday spirit and glitter up,” she orders, but she’s grinning, her cheeks rosy. She’s been glowing all afternoon, vibrating with a joy that’s contagious enough to have even Jason smiling. 

“So what’s the plan tonight, ‘Landa?” Jason prods, changing out his barbells for a gold that matches the jingle bells on his harness. 

“First set is with our stand-in Santa Daddy,” the queen advises, fluffing her meticulous curls in the mirror. “Then Charla and I will do our ‘Santa Baby’ routine.” 

Tommy’s features light up. “To the Eartha Kitt song?” 

Yolanda beams, her bright candy-red lipstick popping as she winks. “No better tune to do Christmas burlesque to.” She reaches over and plucks at the garters of his thigh high socks. “Don’t forget to shimmy that skirt, darling. Have some folks put some cash in your stocking, hmm?” 

The man chuckles, sashaying in his heels as he tugs Jason towards the door. “Come on, let’s kick off the night. Those assless chaps aren’t going to flaunt themselves.” 

Jason snorts, but follows pliantly up the stairs and out of the Pit. The floor is already alive with patrons, every table adorned with a tiny tree and a smattering of Charla’s county-famous eggnog. On the stage beside them, Blue is crooning the last few lines of her _ Winter Wonderland _ parody, shimmying her Frosty the Snowman-themed dress at a few overjoyed members of the audience. 

“_Sleigh bells ring; are you listening? All those cocks are just glistening,_” Blue warbles, fluttering her long lashes. “_We’re happy tonight, sucking all cocks in sight, walking in a wet dream wonderland._” 

Jason resists the urge to snort as she bends to toss a handful of confetti snow into the cheering audience, receiving their blown kisses with bashful enthusiasm. She totters off the stage in a pair of coal-black heels, and Jason leans up on the timber as he waits for their guest to take his red throne. 

“Got any plans for Christmas Day?” he asks Tommy, who shrugs. 

“All my family’s back in Nebraska, and I’m not really welcome home anyway,” he reports, his joy undamped. “So I thought I’d do something quiet at home. What about you and Teddy?” 

“Family lunch,” Jason advises with the barest wince, following Tommy towards the steps. “You could come with us if you wanted. It’s a big family, so you’ll blend right in.” At Tommy’s bright laugh, Jason nudges him with an elbow. “I’m serious, you should come.” 

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” Tommy starts shyly, brushing him off. 

Jason doesn’t back down. “You’ll get on famously with Dick, I’m sure of it. And Alfred always makes way too much food. We couldn’t eat it all if we tried. Come on, spend Christmas with us. We’ll pick you up tomorrow morning.” 

Tommy frets, a blush rising to his cheeks. “Only if it’s not any trouble-” 

“It’s not.” 

A smile tugs at Tommy’s brightly painted lips. “Alright then. Christmas Day lunch it is.” 

Jason’s heart warms at the bright excitement in Tommy’s eyes, at the nervous way he clenches his fists in the bundles of his skirt. It’s probably been years since the man spent the holiday amongst company; if he can give Tommy any semblance of a homely family Christmas, Jason will consider it a success. 

The crowd gives off a few wolf whistles, so Tommy and Jason take that as their cue to join their Santa on stage, turning to ascend into the bright lights. There’s a huge red chair pushed up against one of the poles, decked out with boughs of mistletoe and tinsel, an imposing figure sprawled out in the seat. 

Jason stutters to a halt, lungs empty as he makes eye contact with the snow-bearded man on stage. 

“Oh,” Tommy says beside him, but it comes to him slow, like he’s hearing through molasses, “that’s one hell of a Santa Daddy.” 

Jason smothers the urge to whimper in response. Because decked out in trademark scarlet, a Santa cap angled over his white hair, is Slade Wilson. 

Jason’s pretty sure he’s blushing a red to match Slade’s coat, because the man gives him a confident smirk when they make eye contact. The only thing that saves him from immediately melting through the stage is the fact that Jason can hide his face behind Tommy as they climb into his presence. 

“Hello there, boys,” Slade purrs as they come around, one on either side. 

A few audience members holler at Jason’s exposed backside, but he’s too busy being a little stumped by the very imposing, very lethal form of Deathstroke the Terminator currently sitting on a Santa throne, legs spread wide to accommodate them both. 

Apparently he’s not the only one getting choked up, because it takes Tommy a few tries to croak out a breathless, “Merry Christmas.” 

The man’s lips curl a few degrees, and Jason could swear Tommy’s knees knock at the sight. “How about you come and bend yourself over Santa’s lap, hmm? Or does the bending happen first?” 

Tommy makes a choked little noise, high in his throat. 

Slade gives him a patient, knowing smile and pats his knee. Tommy still looks a little starstruck, the blush painting his cheeks as he steps forward and bends himself over Slade’s leg until his hips are flush to the muscles of his thigh. He braces himself on the stage with his elbows, a flush rising when his skirt hitches up to expose his ass, his panties a vibrant red. 

His embarrassment doesn’t go unnoticed by Slade, who reaches a broad hand over to palm the cheek as Tommy yelps and squirms. “Aren’t you a handful,” he mutters, low and gravelly, and Tommy melts with a stifled moan. 

Then Slade turns to lift that ice blue eye to him. “_Jack_,” he says with a twinkle of amusement, and slides the palm of his other hand - the one _ not _ currently occupying Tommy’s behind - down the length of his broad thigh. _ Christ _, when had Slade gotten so damn big? 

Jason feels too warm, his cheeks burning. He can’t get out of this without making a scene. And more than anything, Jason doesn’t want to ruin Yolanda’s biggest night of the year. For the most part Slade seems to be accommodating, if the way Tommy is currently draped pliantly over his leg is any indication, so Jason doesn't _ think _ he's going to try anything. 

Jason swallows hard and steps forward to layer himself gingerly over the man, wrapping a bracing hand around his lower calf as he settles with a huff. If he can settle with Slade’s thigh just below the harness, then he can almost pretend- 

Jason barks in alarm when Slade grabs a firm handful of his ass and yanks him further across his leg. His reflexes kick in, a palm snapping out to brace himself on the stage, but he ends up down on one elbow anyway, his other seized in a death grip around Slade’s ankle. Tommy gives him a weak but thrilled smile when he glances up, only a few inches off his stage partner’s nose. 

Slade gives his ass a few firm pats, making Jason shrivel with embarrassment when he murmurs, “_Good _ boy.” 

“Fuck,” Jason spits, hand clenching on the stage as he wriggles to test how secure he is, toes curling in his boots. 

Slade brings a ringing slap down on his behind, making him arch and yelp at the stinging contact. He’s only spared some coy tease on Slade’s part when Tommy whines and shuffles opposite him. 

The older man gives him attention immediately, fondling his cheeks as Tommy gasps and shudders. “You want some attention too?” Slade asks, and Tommy gives him an overeager nod, a slightly hysterical laugh falling from his lips when Slade lands a resounding smack down on the back of Tommy's thigh. “You going to be good for me?” 

“Yes, sir,” he answers with a doting smile, fluttering those baby blues up at him. Slade’s lips curl in a smile. 

“Good boy. You’re very nice.” He swivels to smirk down at Jason. “Don’t suppose I‘ll get the same obedience out of you, hmm, birdy?” 

Jason scowls, nails biting into the leather boot where his fingers wrap around Slade’s ankle. “Sit on it,” Jason retorts, and Slade chuckles so deeply that Jason’s stomach does little flips at the timbre. 

“Naughty,” he purrs, and then grins down at Tommy. “I guess that makes you Nice, hmm?” 

“If you say so, sir,” Tommy replies coyly. 

Slade’s fingers must dip somewhere incredibly sensitive, because Tommy lurches forward with a sharp whine, nails biting into the timber of the stage when he comes up flush against that thick thigh. “Let’s get this show on the road then, shall we? Who’s first?” 

The server waiting below the stage beckons the first patron up - a younger man with a fauxhawk who grins giddily at Slade’s brazen smirk. “Hello, Santa Daddy,” he manages to stutter out once he’s standing before the opposing man, and Jason focuses on staring at the man’s boots as Slade palms his ass. 

“Hello, young man,” Slade purrs, and Jason can feel the vibrations through his abdomen. They make his stomach tighten, heat pooling swiftly as he tries not to wriggle. “What are you after this year?” 

“A new vibrator, Santa.” 

“Hmm,” Slade considers, surveying his two captive pets. “And have you been naughty or nice this year, young man?” 

“Nice, Santa.” 

Tommy yelps, loud and surprised, when Slade cracks a gloved hand down over his backside. It makes the flush grow swiftly on his cheeks, lips parting in a soft pant as he glances over at Jason. He looks exhilarated, his spine arching to give their Santa a better angle. 

Their patron has a sort of dumbfounded grin on his face when he descends from the stage, making way for the next guest to step forward and announce an item on their wishlist. 

“Have _ you _ been naughty or nice this year?” Slade asks after a moment’s cloying contemplation. 

Their lips curl in a conspiratorial grin when they wink. “Very naughty, Santa.” 

The knot of Jason’s stomach tightens in anticipation, his hands curling on the timber as Slade hums. “Well, we can’t let that go unpunished, can we?” 

Pain flashes up Jason’s entire asscheek, outshone only by the shock of the sudden impact, and is followed by a swift wave of heat that takes root in the base of his spine. 

“Jesus _ Christ,_” Jason spits, catching his breath, and Slade massages his ass fondly. 

“That should do the trick,” Slade murmurs smugly, and the patron makes a gleeful exit. 

It continues like that for longer than Jason knows what to do with. His entire ass is on fire by the end of it, and he’s sure it’s nearly as red as Slade’s coat, framed by the black leather of his chaps. Tommy’s given up any pretense of decency, squirming in Slade’s lap every time the larger man lands a spank across his backside. Jason’s pretty sure Tommy’s gotten more attention than he has; the man’s nearly guaranteed to be bruised by now. But despite his harsh, rough pants, Tommy looks absolutely thrilled by this development, even when Slade picks him up and sets him unsteadily in his heels after the last patron leaves the stage. 

“Thank you, sir,” Tommy gasps as Jason shifts to get his own feet under himself, wincing at how his ass throbs in time with his pulse. 

Slade meets his burning blue gaze evenly. “You’ve been very well-behaved. If you come find me later, boy, Santa might have a job for you.” 

Tommy sways a little at the suggestion, but manages to nod sharply before Jason drags him, mortified, off the stage. Once he’s pulled himself out of whatever dreamy daze getting spanked by Slade Wilson had driven him into, Tommy heads back out onto the floor to collect some cash tips in his stockings, leaving Jason to rub the welts of his ass and blush down at his boots in solitude. 

* * *

Christmas Eve at the Daily O is _ heaving. _

Tim’s really beginning to master running in stiletto boots with how many laps he’s made of the floor tonight. They have every member of staff on, and every table booked. Between running eggnog and candy cane peppermintinis, Tim has only caught glimpses of the menagerie of routines that have filled the stages. He doesn’t think he’s likely to forget Yolanda’s renowned retelling of the nativity scene anytime soon though. 

The atmosphere of the whole club is so much different than their other themed holidays. There’s a visible joy that wreathes the house in bright chuckles and merriment, a companionship between the performers that even Tim, as little time that he’s spent amongst the strippers and servers, feels it down to his bones. 

It’s after Tommy’s finished his gingerbread man routine, arching off the candy cane-striped pole with a laugh that illuminates the room more than all the Christmas lights combined, and Charla takes to the stage to raucous fanfare, that Twinka makes a beeline for Tim. 

“If I have to suffer through this torture for another year, then you do too,” Twinka growls, hooking his arm around Tim’s elbow as he drags him relentlessly through the crowd. Tim can’t get a word in edgewise, yanking the fluffy white trim of his flared miniskirt down as he runs behind the small hurricane. Twinka doesn’t let up for a second, his matching stilettos clacking in unison with Tim’s, but he does pause as they pass Jason, barking sharply at the man, “Jack, get on stage.” 

Jason mirrors Tim’s bemusement, but falls into step without complaint as Twinka marches them up to where Charla’s waiting with two spools of ribbon and two wreaths draped over her arm, a devious grin on her lips. Domi hovers at her flank in a nauseatingly green elf dress, the pair of red-and-white striped socks tugged up over his knees only serving to make him look all the taller, and Tim knows for a fact Charla clears six foot in those heels. 

“We have two new contenders to join our reigning champs for our next festive game,” Charla purrs into the microphone, gesturing to Abel as he releases Tim with a roll of his eyes. 

“Let’s get this over with,” he says, but Tim can see an excited light in the depths of his brown eyes. Whatever’s got Twinka pulled from his usual surly demeanour is enough to spark Tim’s interest. 

“All that bared skin,” Charla croons, tickling her nails up Abel’s ribs as she sashays around the pair of them. Abel bats them away, but he’s smirking. “We’ll have to mark it up nice and pretty, won’t we, hunnies?” 

The crowd voices their approval, and Abel scoffs under his breath, catching Tim’s hand to line them up side by side a few steps back from the lip of the stage. “You’re gonna enjoy it, don’t worry,” he says aside, low enough that Tim nearly doesn’t catch it. “Domi and I play every year.” 

“From the sound of it, you two _ win _ every year,” Jason interjects, and Abel’s eyes gleam when he meets his raised brow. 

He licks his lips. “What can I say? We’re a power couple.” 

Jason snorts, but acquiesces when Charla nudges him aside with her hip, settling a long arm over Tim’s shoulders as she winks at the crowd. “So who do we think our winners will be this year? Our newcomers, Jack and Teddy, or our victors on their home turf, Abel and Domi?” 

The responding bellowing is deafening, making Tim’s stomach buzz with nerves. He adjusts the spaghetti straps of his red tank top as he squints through the blinding lights into the crowd. 

“I still don’t see the reason for the midriffs and the short skirt,” Tim mutters as Charla snatches his Santa cap from his head, replacing it with a woven wreath of green leaves and red berries. 

“Don’t complain,” Abel returns, taking his place at Tim’s left. “Last year it was elf bikinis.” 

Domi chuckles softly, appearing behind the smaller man as he settles the wreath of mistletoe on Abel’s crown. “I thought you made a cute elf,” he murmurs gently, and Abel cringes good-naturedly. 

His hands slide down to circle Abel’s wrists, guiding them into the small of his back as Charla offers him a length of red ribbon. Domi presses a kiss to his cheek as Abel stands patiently, letting Domi wind the ribbon around his wrists and loop it in a tight bow befitting a neatly wrapped present. 

“I’m sort of enjoying the role reversal,” he teases softly, and Abel scoffs, but Tim can tell it’s fond. Jason steps forward to mirror him, tracing light fingertips down Tim’s arms as he watches Domi work. 

The smaller man tilts his head back with a purr. “Enjoy it while it lasts.” 

Domi’s cheeks alight when he bends down to kiss Abel, slow and smoldering, until Charla has to physically pry them apart. “Okay, okay,” she declares sternly, “save it for the competition.” 

“What competition?” Tim demands, more curious than anything, and glances over his shoulder to watch Jason tie a complicated knot into his own ribbon restraints. No quick escape then; he’s intending to make this fair on Abel and Domi. Tim still pulls on them experimentally, stomach warming at the sturdiness of the ties. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Jason, who chuckles darkly and presses a kiss to his bared shoulder. 

When Jason straightens with a satisfied smirk, Charla hands him a tube of lipstick. 

“What’s this for?” 

“It’s Mistletoe Mania,” Charla advises, handing Domi a matching tube of candy-cane red lipstick. “Doll your pretty lips up, and then you have one minute to kiss as much of your boyfriend as you can reach.” 

Tim flushes, but the look Abel shoots him is fiercely competitive. 

Domi passes him a sympathetic smile over Abel’s shoulder, lips parted to apply the makeup with practiced ease. Then he smacks them and pockets the tube. “Ready when you are, Jack.” 

“It’s on, Domino,” Jason jeers, and Tim can’t help but giggle at the sight of the larger man’s bright red lipstick. It makes the blue in his eyes pop when he grins down at Tim. 

“A good look on you,” he teases around a smile, and Jason smirks, rolling his lips. 

“Ready to win this thing, baby?” he croons, and the scornful look Abel sends in his direction only serves to make Jason grin all the wider. Tim can feel the excitement stirring in his chest, tightening in preparation as Charla paces the stage in front of the crowd. 

“On your marks,” Charla bellows, and Tim can feel the audience coil as he twists his wrists in the ribbon. “Get set. Go!” 

The cheer is deafening when Jason presses a hard, ecstatic kiss to Tim’s cheekbone, pulling away with a wet smack as he descends down the side of Tim’s jaw and throat at a rapid fire pace. Tim yelps in surprise as the man parts from Tim’s collarbone to slide down into a crouch on his heels. It’s not until he begins a quick path up Tim’s arm, all the way to his shoulder, that he finally catches a glimpse of the bright red lipstick he can feel painting his pale skin. 

Those lips draw the heat up to Tim’s skin, make him flush beneath the attention, under the coy, intense look Jason shoots up at him. He shuffles around to Tim’s front, dropping to his knees to press himself flush to Tim’s thigh. The ribbon bites into his wrists when Tim shifts, the wreath crown slipping down his forehead an inch when he jolts at Jason’s kiss to his navel. 

Jason doesn’t hold back, sucking sharp little bites into the ridges of Tim’s ribs and the arches of his hips, never lingering long enough for Tim to lean into the sensation before he’s shifting to a new, bare expanse of skin. Tim squirms beneath the featherlight brushes of his lips, gasping when Jason pins him with both palms on his hips, grinning up through those long lashes at him where he kneels. 

It’s not until Abel lets out an uncharacteristically bright giggle that Tim remembers this is a _ competition, _ with contestants, and not just an excuse for Jason to mark him up with his teasing lips. When he swivels to look at the pair, Domi is pulling back off Abel’s apparently ticklish stomach to meet the smaller man’s joyous scowl. 

The lipstick is smeared over the corners of Domi’s mouth, and Jason’s not too much better. He’s managed to mark up both of Abel’s arms and decolletage, and is currently on his knees between the toes of Abel’s boots, beaming up at him. As Tim watches, Domi skirts his huge palms over Abel’s legs, hitching his skirts up with adoring patience until he can suck a kiss into the smaller man’s inner thigh. 

Abel shudders beneath his ministrations, his half-hearted scowl melting into adulation as Domi worships every inch of bare skin he can find with his lips. 

He’s brought back to his own devotee when Jason nips at Tim’s stomach, the spark of sharp pain joining the simmering pool of heat beneath where Jason’s lips rest. “Eyes on the prize,” Jason purrs with red-smeared lips, and Tim really wishes his hands were free so he could rake them through the man’s dark hair. 

The want only intensifies when Jason scoops Tim’s calf up over his shoulder, running a line of quick kisses down the back of his thigh, from the curve of his ass to the back of his knee, above his boot. Tim groans, heel digging into Jason’s spine as the larger man chuckles, pressing a cheeky kiss to the red panties over Tim’s perineum when he dives between his thighs to reach his other leg. 

Tim growls his disapproval, but it’s short-lived when Jason’s lips are skirting down the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, lathering it with red lipstick and saliva to have his cock swelling. Jason gives the underside a soft kiss when he ducks out from under Tim’s skirts, climbing quickly to slip the spaghetti straps from his shoulders and mark across his chest. 

His fingers hook into the feathery fur across Tim’s pectorals, yanking it down a tantalising inch so he can reach more skin. 

“Time’s _ up!_” Charla shouts, and Jason lifts off him with a gasp that’s swallowed by the ecstatic crowd. His cheeks are flushed with exertion, hair askew and lipstick smeared across his rosy skin in a way that makes him look debauched. 

Tim pushes to his toes, and Jason ducks his head to meet him, a hand lifting to his chin to guide him into the kiss. The crowd hoots and hollers at the display, and Tim’s certain his lips are a bright red by the time Jason pulls back with a breathless grin. 

“Alrighty, that’s enough, you lovebirds,” Charla chastises, shooing Jason away from the pair. “Inspection time, boys.” 

Tim glances at Abel, surprised to find him looking as flushed and winded as Tim feels. His brightly coloured hair is a mess from where Domi’s evidently been running his fingers through it, holding his throat open so he can mark every spare inch of Abel's skin. Every one of his ribs bears Domi’s red mark, a neat march all the way down to his pubic bone and back up around his navel. It’s smeared in places, where Abel seems to have canted away, squirming beneath his ticklish lips. 

He looks a bit unsteady, hands flexing in the ribbon as he pants and grins at Tim. The other can’t help but concur with the fervent excitement in those dark eyes. 

And despite the plethora of red painting every visible limb on Tim’s body, he can’t deny that Abel’s red streaks are far more numerous, grouped with immaculate precision on every curve and corner of his smaller body. 

“I think we have a clear winner,” Charla hums for the crowd’s benefit, and leans down to press an obnoxiously energetic kiss to Abel’s cheek. The smaller man squirms and protests, but it’s speckled with joyful laughter, and Tim’s never seen Abel glowing like he does beneath Domi’s proud smile. 

Tim gets a corresponding kiss, a bright green in Charla’s favourite shade to match the red on his other cheek as the crowd cheers. Jason steps forward shortly after to tug open their ties, laughing loudly when Abel abuses his newfound freedom to yank Domi down into a ferocious kiss that brings the taller man nearly to his knees. 

“Merry Christmas, _girasol_,” Abel purrs against his slack lips when they break apart. His lidded eyes glimmer in the stage lights, soft and adoring. 

Tim jumps when Jason winds an arm around his waist, pulling them flush together. His breath washes over Tim’s cheek, his mirth bubbling up through his throat as Jason leans down to whisper, “Merry Christmas, Tim,” soft and earnest against his pulse. 

Tim’s answer is consumed by his lips. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope the holiday season has been kind to everybody <3 
> 
> [Batsaboutbats](https://linktr.ee/batsaboutbats).   
[Meaninglessblah](https://linktr.ee/meaninglessblah).


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